


AU Number 2

by clonethemidwife



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22376602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clonethemidwife/pseuds/clonethemidwife
Summary: "I'm sorry this is awkward, but my toddler thinks you're his mum."
Relationships: Bernadette | Shelagh Turner & Timothy Turner, Bernadette | Shelagh Turner/Patrick Turner
Comments: 12
Kudos: 35





	1. AU Number 2, Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> “I’m sorry this is awkward, but my toddler thinks you’re his mum”
> 
> AU
> 
> Turnadette. Canon-ish; characters should be recognizable, plot and settings should not. Also modern-ish.

He had entered the cafe frazzled, and hot on the heels of his young son, who was running away from him screaming and crying. It looked like a temper tantrum, from what she gathered, though the child seemed a bit young for the “terrible twos”, which of course, was nowhere near as bad as the “terrible threes”. She noticed him. She had to, of course, given the hurricane of chaos that accompanied him in. But, more than that, she found her curiosity had been piqued by this scene. Her intention, of course, had been to remain outside of it. This afternoon reprieve was one that she had stolen following a routine doctors appointment which quickly turned anything but routine. She was supposed to have been back already, but she couldn’t face going back and having to tell everyone. Not yet. So she ducked in and took a corner table, out of the way, and watched the passers by through the window. No one had noticed her, and she barely noticed them. That was how she wanted it.

Until the screaming child had made a b line for her, and climbed up her legs into her lap. He attached himself firmly to her torso, her arms instinctively wrapping around him before she was even aware of what was happening. He immediately ceased crying, laid his head down on her chest, and fell asleep. The man she presumed to be his father arrived at her table a few seconds later, breathlessly asking if he might sit. She nodded affirmatively, and he sat.

“I’m so sorry. He hasn’t done anything but scream and cry for the last 36 hours.”

“Are you certain there’s nothing wrong with him?”

“There is. And it can’t be fixed.”

“I know the feeling.” She mumbled, looking the child’s sleeping form over. Her heart ached. He must have seen it on her face.

“His mother, my soon-to-be-ex-wife left. He’s been crying ever since. I’m not good enough for him. I even called his grandmother. He only wants Mummy. He won’t let me carry him, which is why he walked in here on his own. His first steps ever were to walk away from me, which is great for my ego. He might have a future as a footballer, though, judging by the solid kicks he’s given me in the last day and a half.”

“And yet?” She indicated the sleeping child.

“Right, about that… I’m sorry…”

“It’s nothing to be sorry about…?” She was confused.

“Not that he’s attached himself to you, but rather why he has. I’m sorry, and this is awkward, but my toddler seems to think you’re his Mum.”

She felt the blood drain from her face. “Oh.”


	2. Part 2

"Yeah... What are you drinking? Buying you more is absolutely the least I can do as you've finally gotten my son to settle and allowed me to hear something other than his fits for the first time in over 24 hours, a miracle for which you should be canonized, by the way, would you object to me tweeting this to the Pope for his consideration?"

She giggled. "Jasmine tea. Thank you. Can I give that some thought?" 

"Patrick. And that's Timothy. I'll be right back with your tea." Patrick quickly walked to procure the tea she'd said she was drinking, and returned in a couple of minutes with a very large coffee for himself, her tea, and an assortment of baked goods from the cafe's display. 

"I thought I might as well get us some snacks. And I've just realized my manners have completely escaped me and I didn't even ask your name!"

"Shelagh." 

"Shelagh. That's a beautiful name. It's nice to meet you."

"I'm sorry, this really shouldn't be any of my business; I can't believe I'm asking this, really, but your child is asleep on me, so... Why did his mother leave?"

"Right. That. Honestly, I want to tell you. You deserve the truth. I just don't know what happened. All of a sudden she was screaming at me about how her life was intolerable. I knew that she'd struggled with being pregnant, and then afterwards, but I never expected this. For her to leave her child." Patrick's eyes fell to his son. "She blamed me for working too much, not being around enough. But she wouldn't let me be around. I was smothering her, and spoiling the baby, she said. She told me to take advantage of the overtime offers, and then faulted me for it." Patrick reached for a brownie, broke off a piece, and ate it, meeting Shelagh's eyes once again. Shelagh's heart hurt to see the pain and failure he felt about this admission marring his features. 

"It hardly seems her leaving was your fault. But I can't imagine giving birth to a child and then abandoning it." Shelagh said softly. Shelagh couldn't imagine pregnancy, or giving birth at all, and until today, hadn't realized how much she wanted motherhood. Too late, of course. 

"Tell me about yourself?"

"Oh, there's not much to tell..." Shelagh deflected. 

"I doubt that. For one thing, I know you're Scottish. And I'd be blind to be oblivious to the fact that you're a baby whisperer."

"Well, yes, I suppose."

"You've indulged me unbelievably with this. I don't want to leave not knowing anything about you."

"I just stayed for the cake." Shelagh teased. 

"Fair enough, but it will be even more awkward if we just sit here trying not to stare at one another while Timothy's sleeping. And who knows how long he'll sleep for! We have time, and I want to know, not to mention that I'm a captive audience..." Patrick winked at her. Had he really winked at a near-perfect stranger in a cafe not even two days after his wife abandoned them? Not just any stranger, though. He reminded himself. One who his son has adopted. This was going to be a mess, he was sure, but it didn't matter right at that moment, when she was smiling and his son was sleeping peacefully on her chest. 

"You're right. I am Scottish. I wouldn't have ever called myself a baby whisperer, though. I never pictured myself having a family." Shelagh's eyes started to fill, and she looked away, staring out the window trying to pretend that she was in control and that she did not wish she could be mother to the sleeping child in her arms, taking a deep breath. "Sorry, it's been rather a trying day."

"You don't have to apologize to me. I've become rather an expert on those this week." 

"I was supposed to go back to work. I had to leave for an appointment. I was supposed to go back, but I couldn't bear to answer questions about it, so I was hiding in here when Timothy found me."

"I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?" 

"No." She said sadly. 

"What do you do?"

"Hm?"

"You said you were supposed to go back to work? What do you do?"

"Yes. Sorry. I work in a residential facility for children. The quarter master, sort of. Mostly I make sure that all of the clothes, bedding, books, and toys needed are available. Buying what's necessary, going through the donations, keeping everything in working order. I didn't want to go back and settle disputes over the communal property when..." She brushed a tear from her cheek, and when she continued, her voice was heavy, "I know they are concerned for me. I know. And that my little "jail break" will only cause more worry. But I just couldn't take the looks and the questions. Not when I hadn't realized that I wanted it until it was too late." Shelagh was outright crying now, and Patrick rushed to kneel next to her seat, wrapping her and Timothy into his arms. 

"I'm sorry, that may have been rather forward of me, but you seemed to need it."

"I did. Thank you."

"I'm surprised Timothy hasn't woken up yet."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he slept for 12 hours. He's burned a lot of energy, from what you've told me."

"I think they'll kick us out before that. And I'd take him from you if I thought he'd stay asleep, but considering his current opinions about me..."

"I don't mind." Shelagh said quickly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE! I wrote a little bit more that I never posted, and you guys are getting it tonight!

Patrick nodded. “No one would guess that you and he were strangers when you woke up this morning.”   
“Did he not sleep last night?”  
“Not a wink, I’m afraid.”  
“Poor baby.” Shelagh shook her head, mostly to herself. “I don’t think I realized how much I needed a hug until he wrapped his arms around me.” Shelagh muttered.  
“What’re we to do when they close up?” Patrick asked, not unaware that the cleaning up had begun around them. “I don’t suppose you would, no why would you? You don’t know me from anyone else. I might be a serial killer, but they aren’t as desperate as I am right now. If I promise I’m not a crazy person... Would you mind terribly if I continued to impose on you? I just don’t know if I can handle the fits again just yet...” Patrick confesses.   
“Will there be cake?” Shelagh laughed, her eyes crinkling as she laughed. Patrick swore he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life than the woman sitting before him, laughing, holding his sleeping son. He would marry her, he thought, getting very much ahead of himself.   
“I’m sure I can arrange for cake if it keeps you around.” Patrick smiled. “And my son sleeping!” He added hastily. Shelagh grinned haughtily.   
“Well, Patrick...” She started, “I suppose you could impose upon me further.” 

“You are truly an angel and a saint. The Pope will canonize you instantly, I am sure.” Patrick smiled.   
“What do you do, Patrick? You said you worked a lot.” Shelagh trailed off.   
“I’m a Doctor. NHS, or what’s left of it.” Patrick shook his head. “General Practice, though I get a lot of calls to assist A&E and the midwives.”  
“You’re made of stern stuff, then.” Shelagh smiled.   
“So I’m told.” Patrick winked. “To tell you the truth, I prefer delivering babies than working A&E. Seeing young kids coming in, their lives ruined by preventable... Sorry, I don’t mean to bore you.”  
“I’m not bored.” Shelagh assured him.   
“It’s just a waste. Holding a baby brings so much hope. I try to assist in a birth after a night on A&E just to keep myself steady.”   
“What’ll you do now? You can’t work the same schedule if you’re the only parent, surely.”  
“I haven’t even begun to figure that out yet.” Patrick confessed. “I don’t know if she’ll want to share custody, if she’ll want full custody, if she’ll want visits. I don’t even know how to reach her.” Patrick ran his hands over his face. “How do you walk our on your own child?”   
“I know this is sensitive, and I don’t mean to pry, but have you considered the possibility that she might have been in trouble? Post Partum Depression could present similarly, but...” Shelagh glanced around the room, before dropping her voice to a whisper, “if she struggled with addiction, it could also explain the erratic behavior.”  
“I never thought she’d be the type to abandon her child, certainly. I couldn’t go to her appointments with her; she wouldn’t let me go,” he added hastily when Shelagh’s eyebrow started to raise, “she said something about not turning her appointments into a social hour with my mates. So, I don’t know that they’d speak with me. She never drank more than a glass of wine on a holiday, and she’s not had surgery in years...”  
“How was her labor with Timothy? Were there any... complications?” She asked delicately, or so she hoped.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A DOUBLE UPDATE! WILL WONDERS NEVER CEASE?!

Patrick shook his head, “It was a textbook delivery. She didn’t even need stitches.” He winced, wondering if he’d said too much.   
“And she’s no history of instability?” Shelagh asked, forehead creasing.   
“No family history.” Patrick confirmed.   
Shelagh felt helpless, in that moment, but she’d rather feel helpless while helping someone else than dwell on her own sorrow.   
“You said you were hiding?” Patrick asked. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you’ve—quite deftly, I must admit—redirected the conversation by distracting me into talking about myself.” Patrick smiled. “The least I can do is try to return the favor.”  
“I thought you were going to have me canonized?” Shelagh retorted.   
“Indeed I am. But surely I can try to be of more help than simply making sure that legions of Christians around the world beg you for your intercessions until the world ends.” Patrick smiled.   
“Don’t you get any ideas, Patrick, but let’s go back to yours before you try to solve my problems in a closing cafe with a disdainful staff.”


End file.
